


In which Colette acquires idiots

by Overlord_Bethany



Series: Always Send Knives [4]
Category: Girl Genius (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, Paris hijinks, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 13:31:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15558789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Overlord_Bethany/pseuds/Overlord_Bethany
Summary: It was kind of a BOGO situation.





	In which Colette acquires idiots

Colette managed to cause a stir everywhere she went. Another daughter of the Master’s enrolling at the university should have been unremarkable, but someone—probably Seffie—had put out a rumor that he favored her above many of his other children. The gossip ballooned, as it tended to do, and within a week she became known as _the_ favorite. She could hardly step outside her riotous house without someone offering to buy her coffee, food, opera tickets, incendiary devices, or whatever else came to mind. Classes proved little better, with the first three days involving stares and whispers and classmates almost trampling each other for the opportunity to sit beside her. Colette found it all tremendously tedious.

Wednesday brought an unexpected reprieve. Weary already from her morning classes, Colette dragged her feet on the way to Biomechanics I: Perils and Pitfalls. She pushed the door open, selected an aisle seat, and braced for the usual swarm of admirers. Immediately, a satchel heavy with books thunked down on the desk beside her. So someone had won the coveted seat already.

“Your pardon, Mademoiselle,” Tarvek Sturmvoraus said. “Is this seat taken?”

He would be the first to _ask_. Colette found herself smiling up at him. “Please.” She gestured to the chair, and when Tarvek sat, she said, “I didn’t think to count you among my admirers.”

Tarvek rolled his eyes. “Sycophants, all of them.” He opened his bag and set up book, notes, and pens in an unreasonably orderly fashion. He reminded Colette of Seffie just enough that she wanted to like him. Probably a bad idea. She looked away.

Throughout the lecture, Tarvek kept his eyes forward, apparently oblivious to how Colette would sneak glances at him, studying him. Why had he chosen to sit beside her? Did he think to gain her favor by shielding her from overeager classmates? Did he seek her support for this “true heir” of his, who was almost certainly Tarvek himself? Colette chewed the end of her pen. She had too many questions, and Tarvek’s impeccably groomed profile gave her no answers.

When class ended, Tarvek stood and shouldered his bag. Colette thought he might walk away without acknowledging her at all, but then he slanted a little smile sideways at her.

“See you tomorrow.”

True to his word, the following day Tarvek sat beside her in every class they shared. He kept his attention on his studies, offering the briefest of polite words before and after, and then he disappeared into the crush of students filing out the door. Colette tried to make sense of his behavior. Was this an act of charity? Or courtesy? Perhaps intent to establish an alliance? She never managed to ask him before he slipped away.

By Friday, other people had taken notice.

Colette ignored the whispers and the pointed glances. Let them have their rumors. If it made Seffie jealous, so much the better. She took her seat for Biomechanics and waited for the familiar impact of Tarvek’s leather satchel on the desk.

The chair beside her scraped across the floor. She looked up.

“What are you doing?” His bag jostling from his shoulder, Tarvek hurried down the row of seats toward them.

Gil remained standing, his hand on the back of the chair. “Sitting with a friend.”

“You most certainly are not. That’s _my_ seat.”

A nice, peaceful education, Colette reflected, had been a bit much to hope for.

“You can have this one.” Gil nudged the next chair over.

Tarvek threw his books onto the desk in front of Gil. “You don’t get to decide where I sit.”

“I got here first.”

Colette had a strong impression that Tarvek wanted to stamp his foot. “What makes you think I _want_ to sit next to you?” he said instead. Colette eased away from them to have a better view of this spectacle. Gil flinched at Tarvek’s words, but recovered in an instant.

“Then there are plenty of other seats.”

Or there would be, if the other students hadn’t clustered around to watch their Sparkiest classmate square off against their newfound fashion icon. One of them, a British fellow called Wooster, had taken a place in the aisle right beside Colette. He had a notebook open, and he alternately transcribed the argument and scribbled ridiculous caricatures of Gil and Tarvek. Colette fought back a laugh.

“When did you become such an ass?”

“I don’t know,” Gil said, “probably when I was _all alone_ for years.”

“Whose fault was that?”

“ _Mon dieu_ ,” Colette murmured. These two idiots loved each other, and neither of them had any idea what to do about it. She watched them, watched the waves of desperation rolling off of both of them. This wasn’t her responsibility. She shouldn’t bother with it.

“What do you want from me?” Gil demanded. Tarvek’s gaze flicked downward, the tip of his tongue moistened his lips, and for a moment Colette thought he might bury both hands in Gil’s hair and kiss him senseless. It would do them both good, she had no doubt.

Somehow, Gil missed the way Tarvek looked at him. Tarvek shifted his weight and folded his arms across his chest, creating a little more distance between them. Gil mistook the change in posture for aggression. He hooked his thumbs in his waistband and he puffed out his broad Wulfenbach chest. Would these two fools come to fisticuffs right here in the classroom?

“Wow, they’re really stupid,” muttered Wooster.

With a scrape of her chair on the floor, Colette stood up. “That’s enough,” she said. “You sit here—”

“I got here first!” Gil objected.  Colette ignored him.

“And you, there,” she continued, directing Gil to the seat he had selected for Tarvek. “And since the both of you obviously need to blow off steam, you will meet me at L'Endroit Habituel at six thirty this evening.” She turned to Wooster. “You amuse me. You’re welcome to come along.”

“Mademoiselle,” Wooster said, inclining his head with a tiny smile.

“L'Endroit Habituel?” Tarvek repeated as he claimed the coveted seat. “Isn’t that… kind of a dive?”

Gil made a rude noise. Colette gave them both a withering look.

“The clientele is mainly _students_.” She opened her notes. “I expect both of you to be there. On time.”

This was probably a bad idea.

On the other hand, these two idiots and their ridiculous posturing kept her admirers at a distance, so she considered it a minor victory anyway.


End file.
